The Nile's Edge
by SeventeenBlack
Summary: Reno-centric. Society is black and white, but when tragedy rocks the state of a Turk that thinks he knows his place in the world, he finds himself surrounded by shades of gray. RenoxAerith. Drama/mystery/suspense/dark romance.
1. Chapter 1

_In starlit nights I saw you  
So cruelly you kissed me  
Your lips a magic world  
Your sky all hung with jewels  
The killing moon  
Will come too soon_

Echo and the Bunnymen, 1985

**The Nile's Edge - Introduction**

There was truth in the saying that the fithiest cities offered the most magnificent sunsets.

Hell had a heavenly view for every soul it possessed. Every last breath of air, festered and blackened with grit and putrid breezes of smog and rancid meat, that filled the environment like a thick grey cloud made the sun glow a bright, brilliant gold. Every street and building dusted in gilded twilight, it was a blanket of immeasurable karats that warmed its worshippers and heretics without discrimination of class.

Its secret was in the carbon monoxide emissions, the pollutants themselves, disbursed throughout a congested and bristling day that intensified the light in a way that was unseen by the cleaner parts of the world.

Some said it was a window, a glimpse into everything that every living person had once strived for. The journey that had vanquished all hope in the end when it was discovered that no door accompanied God's architecture.

Idle hands were the devil's playground, they said. Every being under the coat of toxic filth lived shattered lives, working toward a fruitless end, gasping for survival. There was no room for miracles, there were no untainted heroes. There was existence in the fog of grime for the sake of obligation. Life was given, and it was revoked. God's cruel joke on man.

So few, if any, lived for a purpose.

The best that could be hoped for was another bright sunset, a last glimmer of hope that maybe it would come up after it left the world in a sheet of embittered amethyst. Illumination of every sin was the last comfort, a nest for those that had given up.

Heathens and believers alike were resigned to routine and mediocrity. Pleasure, fruition, and dreams were forgotten concepts.

Earth as was once known was no more.

Escape was futile, and the very idea was never uttered aloud like an unwritten rule. Those who did were the outcasts, the few remaining free spirits that lived not for hope, but in challenge. To what end was not known, but perhaps it was a question of who really possessed the reigns of their existence. Sex, drugs, violence; it was a den of depravity when the sun's serenity seeped away into the inky black mass of uncertainty.

Nothing was a fate worse than exile, a place where the sun would never shine so lustrously.

Devil's playground, it was, and we were God's idle hands.

* * *

Eight seconds.

The air was warm and the surreal orange light was reflecting off of the blades of grass, shards of razor tipped emeralds.

Fourteen.

Laughter, soft and timid, contaminated with reverence.

Sixteen.

He heard his name and felt cold arms slither around him, so long, enveloping the entirety of his tiny frame in a loose hold. Was she always like this, or was this the way he projected her in his memory?

Twenty.

And it was gone.

Glowing aqua eyes flared open, and their owner gasped for air as though he hadn't been breathing for several minutes. The setting would be the same as always, and he didn't need to look to know he was in a flood of dark sheets, dark walls, dark shadows, and heavy silence. Slowly, he sat up and let his legs drop over the side of the bed, the cool carpet on his feet a welcome contrast to the heat of the bed. His body was coated in droplets of sweat, his hair dampened and sticking to the skin of his back. He felt sick, bile rising in his throat, and his insides clenched and shivering. He remained still, however, his eyes focused on the untidy floor, hunched over, hands grasping the roots of his hair as he forced himself to draw in begrudging breaths. Inhale, exhale.

It was the third time in two weeks, each time growing progressively longer. Twenty seconds, he had counted even in REM state. A gift of his brain, maybe his training. Twenty seconds; thirteen seconds longer than the last. He had heard once that dreams never lasted more than a few seconds, but the slowing of functionality in the brain while sleeping made them appear longer. Maybe he'd only been perceiving the time of each dream as such, but it didn't change the fact that they were increasing in duration every time. Details were becoming clearer, but still too abstract to grasp.

There was no question who it had been in the dream. He knew that from the first time. Her voice was ingrained in his memory, and would be for the rest of his life. The arms, though, he didn't remember her feeling like that. Long it had been, but he knew that she never felt so frigid to the touch. Maybe it meant something. Some twisted insight into the past, a metaphor meant to scare him about his present. Maybe it meant nothing, and he was wasting his time thinking about it.

The breathing had slowed and become natural again, and he finally lifted his eyes from the carpet to the drawer of the cluttered nightstand beside his bed. Then his eyes dropped back down.

He needed sleep. Badly. The strain on his body was invisible, but he was feeling it with every move he made. He'd become accustomed to living this way to some degree; suspended wakefulness, gritting his teeth with a sardonic grin through days on end and a collective six or seven hours of rest. But it always caught up, and there were two options.

His throat tightened and he raised his eyes to the nightstand again, swallowing down the constriction. He was feeling cold suddenly, the moisture over his bare body turning to little pinpricks of ice. He shuddered and let his fingers fall from their hold on his hair, wiping at the sweat that covered his brow and finally settling with his forearms on his knees. He sat like that for several moments, but every tick of his internal clock felt like days were flashing past.

Shakily, he extended a lanky arm toward the drawer.

"Another one?"

He drew his arm back as he felt arms slide around his waist. Warm and inviting. He closed his eyes.

"Yeah."

A kiss was placed on the top of his shoulder, and he parted his lips to take a breath. How was she was so warm?

He could feel her nod behind him. She didn't ask. She never did. He couldn't decide if he was grateful or not.

It took him another few ticks of that clock to realize he was being pulled, brought onto his back, and into his flood of dark sheets, small, warm hands drifting soundlessly over his chest, and then a mass of dark hair blanketing him as he felt her head lean against his thundering heart.

There was only silence as they both witnessed his body returning to a rhythmic pattern. Steady, human.

"You need sleep."

Her voice was laced with acuity, a flash of jade irises and large, fluid pools of obsidian to accompany it.

A turn of his head was his reply, his gaze finding the nightstand once more. Two options only.

He felt her body, her hair, her arms so unlike the cold, snakelike limbs of his dreams. He felt her gaze bore into him, the stilling of her breath against his flesh as she waited patiently. Always patient. He could feel her legs, flush against his own, unconcerned of the moisture that coated his skin. He could feel her hands, brushing the remnants of that hour from his body.

The ticks became mere seconds once again, and he lowered his eyes back to her.

He conceded with a nod, and brought his cold hands to her shoulders, absorbing their heat, and pulling her up to him.

She gave no resistance, and covered him with herself. She shielded him from the cold of the outside and he closed his eyes, waiting for her heat to wash through him and let him have a few precious moments of empty wakelessness.


	2. Chapter 2

_Release me from this need I have of me  
Hours, how many hours  
Do I have until  
I am set free_

VAST - 2000

**The Nile's Edge - Chapter 1**

In retrospect, Reno Takémï might have considered taking the time to wonder what had driven him to choose this day of all days to dig up this one fragment of history and lay it on the pillow he'd freshly abandoned beside his sleeping lover. Why this trinket of all trinkets. Reno didn't have the impulse control, nor the time, to dwell.

The morning carried a burden of necessity. He could taste it in the air, thick and suffocating. Certainly, there was a mountain of paperwork on his desk, accumulating and neglected from last week. Tension was high around the office, more fieldwork that any of them had been terribly accustomed to in the last several days. The higher ranking Turks knew as much as the lower ranking Turks, for once, but the seniors were at least experienced enough to suspect that President Rufus had done something to piss someone off. That part wasn't unusual.

None of that had to do with this fortune cookie in his hand, stale and worthless in fiscal value, a long inedible fossil, at that. None of that had to do with why he was staring at it like he wanted to shoot it with laser beams from his eyeballs. Why did he still have this damned thing?

But he wouldn't dwell. There were matters of far more importance to dwell upon, and far more shadows of the past to push him through his day.

Treading softly in his ShinRa-issue boots, he peered in the crack of the doorway to his bedroom, movements betraying his urge to question his own motives further. There was no time to dwell, the thought repeated.

She slept still, a slanted angle between her side and her front, a fair arm draped over the indention that his body had left beside her, a blank mold of a closely hovering form. Protective. Her phantom limb. Reno's mouth turned upward into a half of a smile. Maybe that was all there was to it. She had kept him grounded the night before, and blocked the haze from invading his sights, invited and uninvited alike. This was the only offering he could give. Simple gratitude in trivial form.

Aerith, the name formed silently on his tongue, not given the grace of voice, but shrouding him in air saturated by her presence.

He quietly entered the room, his eyes glancing nervously at her every few seconds, inexplicably fearful of waking her. Placing the wrapped fortune cookie gently down on the pillow he had slept on, so careful to keep the plastic from crinkling too loudly, he released it with steady fingers. Giving her one more glance, those fingers tricked him into gingerly brushing a lock of stray chestnut hair from her face and, like a wraith, he fled the bedroom, not wanting to be caught in the act.

As he made his way out of the apartment door, and on toward his rusted Jeep, he knew that she'd remember that night, the night of the stupid fortune cookie that shouldn't have meant anything.

"_Think about those people. Your family, but... not your biological family. The difference in dynamic between those you choose to engage in a relationship with, and those you don't choose. That love, free of obligation."_

* * *

"Whatcha say, pard?" was drawled with a humorous smirk from Reno's lips as he spared a glance toward his partner. A smirk to soften the intention. "Just three minutes, tops."

Rude didn't return the glance. He'd internally justify that it was because he was driving, but the redhead could always tell, even from behind Rude's mirrored glasses, when doubt or hesitation would show itself. The large bald man generally chose to stay quiet and motionless for this reason when he was around Reno. His partner was always more perceptive than he let on.

"You know the president is monitoring everything these days," Rude stated simply, gently pushing down the turn signal lever before carefully changing lanes.

"Yeah, what's new?" Reno sighed, turning his vision out the window. "But shit, not like he's got time to personally keep an eye on everyone. He pays the minimum wage school kids for all that lo-jack GPS shit... and most of 'em like me 'cause I buy 'em beer."

Rude just shook his head, knowing better than to argue about Reno's less than morally upstanding antics most of the time. If he did, they wouldn't have been having this conversation to begin with. If Rude put a lot of thought to it, he'd have come to this conclusion about the majority of their conversations. However, it didn't always stop him from opening his mouth from time to time. Reno took it from nearly no one, but Rude knew he held some degree of sway when came to inspiring guilt in the other Turk.

"When was the last time?" the bald man inquired, his low voice reverberating with crystal clarity throughout the cab of the dark car.

Immediately, Reno's thoughts shifted to the night before. He felt the cold arms of his dreams snake around him for just a moment, and then the warmth of those that had pulled him back and kept him from falling into self-prophesy. There was no one to do such a thing now, and he instantly found himself wondering if she, his tarnished savior, was still lingering over the void in his side of the bed. She hadn't come into the office before he'd left with Rude, and almost made him smile to imagine her groggily bolting from his apartment once she realized she'd be late.

Blinking away the brief lapse, he replied tersely. "The fuck does it matter? Look, if you're that worried, just park the car a few blocks away."

Rude knew he wouldn't get more from him. With a sigh, he made another quick turn, the only answer he'd give that Reno had gotten his way. The evasion could have meant anything, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see how frequently Reno would sweep a hand through his unruly red hair, or drum his fingers against his knee impulsively. It had to be a good couple of days, at least. He didn't like contributing to it one bit, but this was his best friend, and he wasn't sure it was in either of their best interests to force the alternative upon Reno at this moment. Not that Reno could be forced to do anything. Shit had already hit the fan around the office, however unspoken it seemed to be, and any change in Reno's behavior, health, or performance, red flags would be raised before either of them could say 'unpaid suspension'.

They didn't speak the rest of the way, but their destination wasn't far. A coffee shop on Cherry Street, a simple, non-suspect stop for two ShinRa agents at ten o'clock in the morning, if business called them down this neighborhood. Rude pulled the charcoal Crown Victoria to the curb in front of the coffeehouse, eyes on the road ahead. "Better be quick, Reno. You know they got eyes all over this place. Three minutes, you said."

"Yeah, I got it," Reno said dismissively, sliding his fingers around the metal handle of the door and pulling, only to be stopped by Rude's hand on his shoulder. Sighing, he looked at his partner.

"Three minutes," Rude repeated, finally turning his head to stare at the redhead through his opaque glasses, and tightening his grasp on the thin man's shoulder in warning.

"I got it, Rudo," Reno grunted between gritted teeth, jerking the door open and stepping out into the garish daylight and blinding heat of Midgar's most humid summer in recent history.

He had three minutes to get in and get out, and all without being seen by anyone that might be interested in the happenings that went on infamous Cherry Street. For any other Turk, clad in a suit that instilled nothing but fear and hatred in the eyes of those that occupied these slums, the feat might have been impossible. Reno, however, was a breed all his own. He knew he had given himself a tight window, and though it was offered merely to persuade Rude to make this little detour, he had to admit he rather enjoyed these self-imposed challenges.

The coffeehouse was two blocks away from an auto shop, notorious for its shoddy mechanical work and cheap, smuggled parts. Below the surface, it was known for much more than that, however, and was perpetually under investigation by local law enforcement for fronting illegal prostitution and drug trafficking. Law enforcement only went so far, though, when ShinRa's own ran protection for them, and worse yet, supplied for, and in one special case was supplied by, its own agents. Police were a separate entity by all means, but when it came down to it, nothing happened in this city without Rufus ShinRa's authority or money. Officials could be bought and paid for if the money came straight from the pocket of the president. Turk suits were good for the purpose of middle-management.

That was where Reno came into play. It was only a fix, one single serving of liquid sanity meant to get him through his day until he could make it back home to an empty apartment once again. He could have just opened his drawer this morning, but he hadn't wanted to wake Aerith only to let her catch him in the act of doing exactly what she'd convinced him not to do just hours before.

And why did he care? The thought drifted through his mind as he rounded a corner into a back alley, three buildings away from the shop, and the redhead merely shrugged, passing the thought off as nothing more than not wanting to hear a lecture before he'd even made it into work. Any attachment he had to her never exceeded past the wee hours of night, dissolving once touched with sunlight. He hardly felt attachment was the right term, as it was, but there was a nagging fact that she was the only one he let into his dwelling past those hours of morning, often enough to saturate his bed with her fragrance and silken threads of brown hair.

Behind the building, Reno stepped to the manhole cover in the asphalt, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. It was a little absurd he had to resort to this, but Rude had called him on his three minutes, and if he was going to go undetected, this was the only way. Threading his fingers through the small holes, he crouched and lifted the cover off, sliding it to the side as quietly as he could.

Since the fall of the plate, and subsequent near disaster of Meteor, most of the streets had been given access to the subway systems as a means for evacuation and safety, a too-little-too-late attempt for appeasement to the fearful and furious residents. Most knew better than to complain, but the president knew he had to give a little from time to time, small tokens to keep the flocks assured that he was more than gracious and fit to be their leader. For the most part, these access holes went unused by anyone that lived any sort of God-fearing life, and were instead used by the few that lived under the laws, the very types that Reno was scaling down the ladder to see now, like sewer rats, if one was so inclined to apply such a name.

Dank, damp, screeching with echoes from the distant trains, Reno's long legs moved with spider-like grace and speed to the third ladder down, pinning himself to the wall just behind the ladder as a train whizzed by. Once it passed, he threw himself up the ladder, skipping several rungs before reaching up to push the lid out of the way. He could only hope he wouldn't have thirty guns pulled on him from this surprise entrance into the auto shop before he'd even had time to raise his head above the surface.

Peering up over the edge, he pressed his lips together. Four guns. He'd been way off. "Hey, guys."

The guns lowered, and Reno pulled himself up.

* * *

Back in the car, Rude tapped the bottom of the steering wheel in slow rhythm, thumping along with the seconds he counted in his head, eyes making routine checks between the rear view mirror, the road ahead, and the alleys between each building that littered the surrounding blocks. Nothing seemed out of place today, no suspicious loitering, and only a few parked cars peppering the curbs. If Reno kept to his promise, he was fairly sure they'd make out of there with no trouble.

At least, he hoped. The stoic man clicked his teeth together once from behind his closed lips. They'd been partners and friends for years, since they were nothing but kids fresh in the ranks of ShinRa, but the quieter Turk had no choice but to succumb defeat when it came to the knowledge of Reno and his personal habits. He knew well how the other chose to spend his free time - and the occasional few minutes on the clock - but somewhere along the way, Rude had lost any sense of pattern.

Reno was an addict to the core when it came to just about everything. Excess was what the notorious redhead seemed to know best, though all of the higher ranks of ShinRa Co were guilty of it in some facet. You didn't climb the ranks without some degree of moral compromise, which merely served to reveal fairly extensive abuse of some kind if anyone cared to delve into the psyche of any one them. Mental, physical, some in the way of ridicule and daily beatings, some in the way of neglect, or eccentric religious upbringings; there was a laundry list of possibilities and combinations, enough to span a season's worth of Dr. Phil. All of them had been evaluated. All of them had been chosen. They all had come from different walks of life, some more similar than others, and though Rude knew full well what had driven Reno to become the way he was, whether the redhead knew it himself or not, Rude had yet to determine just what would set off these episodes. Nor did he know what small miracles seemed to bring Reno pause every once in a great while.

Rude only wished a power like that could be harnessed and kept for when things became too heavy to bear, for those times he'd have to see his partner exceed himself straight into cardiac arrest. He'd seen it before, and that was something he never wanted to experience again.

It drove him crazy to think on the subject of Reno's sporadic habits, but that was where Rude's guilty pleasure for excess usually prevailed. He thought, and he read people, when he knew most more than likely assumed he simply stared blankly, nothing but brawn behind those mirrored glasses. Of course, Reno knew of Rude's capacity for analysis and intellect, but he found it a more valuable tool when everyone else seemed to think he was quiet to conceal a speech impediment, or stupidity, or retardation, or sadistic psychosis. The subject at hand was boggling, even for someone with such a love for breaking things down to a science. The mystery of Reno and this enigmatic source from which he seemed to emerge from the haze of his own chemical stupor from time to time eluded the bald Turk, though he couldn't deny he had a few hunches.

Shifting his eyes to the rear view once again, Rude fought the urge to sigh. It was no secret that Reno had a penchant for just about every vice there was. Women, especially. There were regulars that Reno had mentioned a time or two at the brothel in the Wall Market, and a few others, usually one-night stands, but there was one in particular that stood out, probably perceptible to no one else but Rude. Simply, no one else knew him well enough.

Aerith. Beautiful, brainy, morally bent Aerith, who had surprised everyone a year before when she showed up in the ShinRa building, after everyone had known she'd died even before Meteor had fallen. It was she, from the Lifestream, that had saved them from death. They all _knew_ of her passing, some had worshiped her as their savior, and by some way of miracle or science, or Gaia knew what, she had returned without a word as to why or how. Some speculated that not even she knew for sure. Some speculated that she was simply an impostor. Rude knew better, but he had to grant them some sort of credit for possibly believing so.

She'd been different, only a shell of her former self when she'd come to them. She told stories of how she'd come back, occasionally tacking on a little embellishment depending on her audience, of how she'd picked up smoking in one night from sitting on the porch of a smoker learning to blow smoke rings, and how Reno got her cussing on her first day with ShinRa. Only when she forced herself to guzzle a fifth of Jack Daniels in front of the group did any of them start paying any heed to her stories. Everything about her was changed, hardened from her experiences with life and death, and though all of them had come close a time or two at least, no one could say for sure they had anything to compare to the brand of death she'd borne witness to. The fact that she'd been hired on by Rufus himself from the first day she'd walked into the building was enough for all of them _not_ to question the kind of person she'd become. If she was good enough to work in the top secret levels of the ShinRa laboratories, and occasionally dabble in some of their own field work - not limited to taking a life if need be - she was good enough for the rest of them.

Reno didn't bother to hide it from Rude that he'd wanted to boink the woman since, in his words, she'd 'turned all dark and shit'. It went on for a little while, in the form of a few remarks when she would pass by, or after a night of the group of them drinking together, but one day Reno stopped talking about it. Rude only assumed that Reno had gotten what he wanted from her and moved on, but when he would see Aerith and Reno in the same room, he sensed no rejection or resentment from her - sexist or not, that was usually the side it was on - and noticed the nearly inappropriate way they would _accidentally_ brush against one another in passing. Never had he seen any negative tension between them, in fact only the opposite, and Rude was beginning to theorize on why.

Since then, something in Reno was different, though Rude may very well have been the only one to notice. His habits, his urges, they came in random spurts, controlled and then grossly out of control at any given time. Even before, the redhead had been nearly methodical and ritualistic when it came to using, be it drugs or women. Now there were times Reno was calmer and in more control than Rude had ever seen, but he hadn't known enough of his interaction with Aerith, or how far things had gone, to ascribe her as responsible. It was merely circumstantial, and Rude knew this, but after years of knowing the redhead, Rude knew it was too close to be pure coincidence. Of course, none of these theories were ever spoken. They were friends, but if speaking up might cost him those windows of clarity if Reno thought he was found out, then Rude would do what he thought any friend would do, and would give him that secret indulgence. Reno did still engage in every one of those habits, other women and substance, after all, as far as the silent Turk knew. He knew he could be wrong.

Still tapping the wheel, counting down to the last thirty seconds, Rude's back muscles stiffened as his eyes fell back on the street. There was a car ahead, turning a corner onto Cherry Street about six blocks down, a black Jaguar, every curve painfully familiar. Rude would know that car anywhere, especially on a street like this, where the pavement was graced, at best, with Fords and the occasional old Cadillac with the hydraulics to match the thumping music from unnecessarily large sub woofers. That Jaguar stuck out like a nun in a whorehouse, and Rude wondered if the driver was trying to draw attention to himself for that reason. That car belonged to the Turks' first in command.

Slowly drawing in a breath, Rude turned over the engine to his Crown Vic and then gripped the wheel with both hands, quickly catching a glimpse of bright red from the corner of his eye. The passenger door opened a moment later, and not a second before Reno got both feet inside, Rude was throwing the car into reverse and jerking the wheel into a sharp turn suddenly, peeling them backwards down an alley.

"Tseng," Rude said flatly.

"Yeah, I saw," Reno mumbled, finally slamming the door shut while his eyes were trained on the road ahead.

It was a narrow alley, and an even narrower chance of evasion, but the buildings cast dark shadows, enough to obscure the car if one wasn't paying too close attention. Twenty seconds, then thirty, and finally at thirty-six, the Jag rolled by, slower than either of them would have preferred. It didn't stop, however, and once it was out of view, the Turks looked at each other.

"Think he saw us?" Reno asked, bone thin white hand shoving into his pants pocket.

Rude turned his gaze back to the street in front of the alley. "I don't know." He figured there was no sense in making either of them worry by mentioning that their location on the ShinRa GPS was probably the reason Tseng would even enter this neighborhood. Maybe he was wrong, though. Maybe it wasn't even Tseng.

Reno swallowed, sucked in a breath through his nose, then dismissed the thought entirely. It was a good enough answer, he'd gotten what he came for, and until it was in his veins, nothing else was more important.

* * *

Note: Consider this chapter a bit of an experiment. It has been a LONG time since I've worked on this story, and it's flavor has changed slightly. I think this has been in only the best way, but I figure I'd give it a test drive first. No obligation to give feedback, but if you do, I'd greatly appreciate it. Thanks, guys!

Also, Reno's last name is not mine... a friend's creation, but subject to change in the next few days if I find it creates complication.


End file.
